


coming out of my cage (doing just fine)

by queenofthecon



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: BACK ON MY BULLSHIT, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Mild Smut, Secret Relationship, just to be clear - fuck you alex delany, walk-in action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22017196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthecon/pseuds/queenofthecon
Summary: Brad does not share his yerba mate with just anyone, okay?Claire’s told him a million timesnot at work, okay, keep it between usand it’s like the time his Mom said he couldn’t eat candy on Halloween, it just makes him want it more.
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz, minor background Alex Delany/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 17
Kudos: 78





	coming out of my cage (doing just fine)

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from a lovely anon Tumblr prompt request so thank you for inspiring some ideas, anon. I hope this is what you had in mind. Sorry it took me so long but Christmas and work and blah blah blah distractions... you get the idea. Also minorly inspired by that fucking hot Brad Leone/Orville Peck fanfic because... wow.
> 
> This is RPF and that means it's fictional - none of this story is or will ever be real. We just like playing puppet master here and living in our own little world. In my defence, they are definitely pushing the Delany/Claire/Brad angle, right?! Am I cray?
> 
> As always, I love you muchly. Thank you, merry in-between-Christmas-and-new-year when I don't know what day it is or what year it is.

It’s embarrassing how much Brad thinks about Claire with every passing thought, her running through his head like a pinball machine. His girlfriend rings every bell in his messy, disorganised storage unit of a brain; at work, he’s bouncing around her, directing the camera to linger on her face, on her slim fingers, bringing her his last yerba mate just because she asked once and it made her smile. A man does not share his yerba mate with just anyone, okay? It’s just that she’s told him a million times _not at work, okay, keep it between us_ and it’s like the time his Mom said he couldn’t eat candy on Halloween, it just makes him want it more. Keeping to anyone’s rules is hard but keeping his hands and lips off Claire at work has been fucking _impossible_. Six whole months of it, too. He deserves a medal. Or at least some third base action in the walk-in.

So, Brad comes in every morning and acts like he doesn’t have her in his arms, and he honestly tries hard not to look at her ass a hundred times an hour (a task he fails constantly) because he knows exactly what she looks like naked. Maybe just knowing she’s his is enough until she’s ready to tell people. If she’s ever gonna be ready. It’s _fine_. She’s awesome and it’s fine.

The downtown cold of November cuts through Brad like a knife so he can’t imagine how Claire feels walking with her arm threaded through his because it fits so well, her whole body encased in layers of clothes like she’s trying to mummify herself with scarves. It’s kinda cute, though, six years and you’d think she’d be more used to the cold.

“You still alive down there?” Brad chuckles, and she tightens her grip on his forearm when the wind whips up.

“Shut up, it’s freezing!” Claire replies, clutching her thermos of coffee with her gloved hand as if it’s the only thing keeping her going. “And don’t say-”

“This was your idea to walk to work, Claire,” he says it because he’s said it every morning this week, on every long, slow walk to One World Trade Center. “Coulda got a cab, babe, ain’t gonna freeze in a cab, I tell you that.”

He feels more than sees Claire rolling her eyes to the back of her head. “Oh my God, shut up,” she giggles, and Brad can’t help but grin too, burying it in his own coat. “Cab’s expensive and we only get five minutes together instead of like twenty on a walk.”

“Oh yeah, no, I getcha. Totally worth the fucking hypothermia,” he barks in laughter, pulling her arm closer to him so there’s barely any light between them. “You weren’t built for the cold, Claire, maybe we consider, I dunno… taking a cab or a subway next time, huh?”

Her hand snakes down his arm, her fingers sliding through his and he wishes he could feel her soft skin instead, because that’s a privilege he gets to have now. Their mornings have gone like this for six months, from awkward brushing of hands to his palm slipped into her back pocket.

“Maybe. I hate winter,” Claire pouts softly, sipping from her thermos. “And the holidays are coming up and I swear to God, you better text me every day or my Mom’ll drive me crazy down in Cape Cod. She’s been bugging me forever about you.”

“Babe, I’ve met your Mom, I think we know who drives who crazy.” Brad squeezes her hand as they get to the end of the last block and his stomach sinks like it does every day they do this – has to remind himself not to push her too far. “Claire-”

“I know, I know…” she replies, dropping his hand slowly; Brad feels untethered as she stops at the corner of the street and turns to him. Claire’s wide, dark eyes peer up into his and say a thousand thoughts he can hear over the racket around them. “Soon, I mean it.”

“Sure, babe, I know,” he tries to smile, lingering on the pink of her freezing nose and the softness of her lips. “I just wish you’d let me be proud of you. That you’d be proud of me too, y’know, whatever, it’s not a big fucking deal, Claire, just makes me sad.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t mean to make her feel guilt, but it flickers across her eyes so distinctly; Claire’s not great at hiding those kinds of feelings. Or any feelings. “Come on Brad, you know I-” her teeth drag through her bottom lip. “How about we get a weekend away together?” she says quietly, looking up at him. “After Thanksgiving, we’ll find some time. Get a rental, find some place where I can feed you pancakes and bacon, and we can go fishing.”

Claire’s perfect, he decides then. She’s fucking _perfect._

“Okay,” Brad leans down and kisses her frozen lips softly, lingering for as long as he can. “But maybe you make English muffins instead cos I really don’t fucking like pancakes for breakfast. Like a little like, perfect scrambled egg, super creamy and fresh herbs and those English muffins toasted in the bacon fat …” he groans and presses his forehead to hers. “Please. We’ll save the maple syrup for later.”

Oh yes. They’d found some awesome ways to eat maple syrup, none of which involved a pancake.

“Can’t wait,” Claire grins, kissing him swiftly. “I better get in first, though, I’m already late for my call time!”

And she’s gone, crossing the street before Brad can even blink, waddling because of how many thick layers of thermal clothes she has on under her coat. He just grins and shakes his head because he knows for sure, he’ll wait a hundred thousand years to just look at one more smile on her face. Brad realises all at once what he’d do for her. He realises she’s the reason he wakes up twenty minutes earlier in the morning now and does it happily. He realises he’s never been as sure of anything than he is of Claire.

Brad realises he loves her.

\---

Dan and Kevin are gonna kill him if he keeps interrupting her making those weird pizza roll things. Claire might kill him too, but at least she’d make him suffer first in every creative way she could ever think up and, boy, did Claire Saffitz enjoy some fucking creativity now and again. He doesn’t think much of him is gonna go in this one after the overdose of last time, when he’d actually pissed her off and teased her to death about fucking nougat. It’s hard, though, man. It’s so hard not to want to sit his ass down by her side and flirt and tease and pull her into his lap like couples do. Don’t mean he doesn’t get to have some fun winding her up, though. The night after she’d made Milky Ways had been one of the most memorable of his life. What that woman couldn’t do given enough inspiration isn’t worth writing home about.

“What they got you making this time, Saffitz?” Brad says, leaning his elbows on the counter as she works on her homemade sausage. “What the fuck is a pizza roll…”

Claire grins softly, keeping her eyes on her bowl. “What do you mean, you never had a pizza roll? The name’s kinda self-explanatory…”

He picks up one of the boxes, blanking at the sheer number of ingredients on the back. “Fuck. You had to read this?”

“Yeah, took me like ten minutes,” she smiles, looking up at him. “You kinda have to wonder what parent lets their kid eat whatever mechanically reclaimed chicken product is. Oh! And imitation cheese?!” her eyes widen. “What the fuck even is that? How can cheese not be cheese?”

Brad’s eyes scan down the two column list and he frowns. “Claire, this is longer than most books I’ve read.”

The glint in her eyes is hard to miss as she finishes seasoning her pork. “I don’t doubt that, somehow…”

“Oooh you makin’ sausage?” he exclaims as she attaches the grinder to her stand mixer. “You sure you don’t want the big boy grinder from downstairs?”

“The Fleshen Hoecker?” she replies, biting her lip as the blush spreads across her face. “I think it’ll be okay this isn’t a huge amount of meat to grind.”

Oh, now he is _all_ in. “You don’t think _that’s_ a lot of meat?” he completely ignores Dan and Kevin and all the people in front of them rolling their eyes because it makes Claire squirm a little and go instantly giggly and red. “You got experience handlin’ a lot of meat, Claire?”

The best part is when she kicks him behind the cover of the countertop as the grinder starts whirring, that blush spreading rapidly as she feeds the pork through the machine. “Look, it’s working!” she says as strands of ground pork fall from the attachment rapidly.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Brad cries out, laughing as they both reach for the meat when it lands onto the countertop with nothing to catch it. “Jesus Christ, lady, learn to handle the meat if you ain’t got experience!”

She shoves him with her hip, Claire dissolving into giggles as his hands overflow with ground pork until she finally grabs a bowl. “Brad, just… oh my God, just... just leave it, you’re done.”

“It’s done?” he asks, dumping the meat into the bowl, dashing to wash his hands. “Gotta say, definitely A-class primo meat handling technique, Claire. You can’t teach shit like that, babe.”

“What even is this day?” Claire asks Dan, shaking her head softly when she gets nothing but silence in response. “Thanks for the assist, anyway, I guess. Great contribution to the pizza roll effort.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Brad bows deeply, having dried his hands on his apron. “Not that I’m a selfish guy in the kitchen, it’s about collaborating, finding good rhythm-”

“Brad!” Claire completely collapses into belly laughs, pressing her forehead to the counter and he takes it as a point of pride that her shoulders are actually shaking. “None of this is going in the episode is it, Dan?”

“Not if we wanna get monetized,” Dan replies, sighing with a slight smile on his face as if he’s had to do this a hundred times, because he has.

Approximately 30 seconds of Brad footage is all they get for pizza rolls, but he doesn’t care about that kinda shit. Claire’s gonna get him back later and he can’t fucking wait for what _that_ entails. It doesn’t help that he’s eaten half of her homemade sausage straight from the cast iron, either. He just can’t seem to stop himself.

\---

The first time he truly notices what’s going on with Delany and Claire, Chris is trying to talk to him but all Brad can focus on is the way Delany’s eyes flick to Claire’s mouth. Fucking_ Delany._ He hears Claire start frying those weird pizza ravioli things until they’re inflating like beach balls and full of molten cheese leaking into hot oil. Brad’s not a jealousy kinda guy, honest to God, he would rather just let the water roll off his back, but hey, if Alex Delany wants to get all cozied up to Claire, maybe Brad’s tune starts changing mid song and he gets so fucking jealous that he can’t concentrate on anything but the way Claire’s laughing.

Fucking _Delany._

“Oh my God, it’s a _blimp_!” Claire exclaims, a camera shoved halfway into the pot of boiling hot oil. “You think it’s gonna explode? Should I put it back in?”

“Just like, ten seconds more,” Delany grins down at her as she messes around with the pizza rolls, but Brad can’t fucking see what her face is doing and it’s driving him insane.

“Oh God, Alex!” she giggles, “This is all your fault!”

“Shit, fuck, Claire!” Alex yells and grabs her shoulders, pulling her back as the oil starts splattering everywhere.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she laughs, rubbing down her arm half-heartedly. “That kinda hurt, you got a grip on you, Delany…”

Brad tries to engage in conversation with Chris, he really fucking tries, but how’s he gonna ignore _that_ shit.

“Brad?” Chris asks, snapping his fingers as Claire rubs oil from her skin. “You drifting off on me, man?”

“Sorry, sorry, you were saying…" Brad mutters, pulling his eyes away from where his girlfriend is beaming up at Alex like he hangs the moon, her gorgeous doe eyes batting away and fanning the flame so much that Brad’s foot starts twitching.

He honestly tries hard to concentrate on whatever it is Chris is saying about his kid’s science fair project or maybe it’s his wife’s charity concert. It’s some event to benefit something or other or to cure some disease or help people with some kinda brain injury? All Brad knows is that five minutes later, he’s somehow bought two tickets to Chris’s kid’s/wife’s charity/science fair and he’s definitely gonna have to go.

One look at Brad’s face and she bites her lip and he _knows_ – all this flirting with Delany’s been on fucking purpose, just to get him going.

And Claire’s gotta pay for that.

\---

Keeping his hands off her at work is getting harder.

All day long he can’t stop thinking about Claire flirting with Delany in front of the whole fucking world just to get him riled up. Worst of all, it’s working because Brad’s fingers had been starting to twitch too from not being able to touch her, from obeying her stupid rule. Good thing rules don’t apply at home. Here, he can pay her back in kind tenfold and make her see what happens when Brad Leone becomes a jealousy guy.

Soon as Claire shuts the door to her apartment, Brad’s hands are on her possessively, gripping hard enough to bruise, lips claiming hers furiously. She whines and moans as he shoves her against the door, still in her thick winter coat, unable to feel him half hard against her like he’s been all day, unable to touch like his wrists are cuffed to the bed.

If he hears her whine his name like _that _one more fucking time, he’s not gonna be responsible for his own actions, which will be completely merciless and punishing. Claire knows that she’s given him those purposeful looks over her shoulder all day while flirting with _Delany_, that she’s been a goddamn tease just for the fun of it. Those little moments have built and burrowed under his skin deeper and deeper until there’s this energy threatening to burst out through his seams and take _control._ He knows what she wants, how she wants him to break because they’ve been playing this game all fucking day.

“You know what you’re doing to me, Saffitz?” he groans, tearing at her layers and cursing the cold for hiding her skin. “You and fuckin’ Alex Delany, Hunzi showed me what Kevin caught this mornin’. You two going through my shit.”

His teeth sink into her neck and suck at her flesh as he gets her shirt open finally. Claire cries out and it sends shivers down his spine from the way her legs shake.

“Don’t know what you mean… shit…” she gasps as he palms her through those high waisted, tight as fuck jeans. _Those_ jeans, the ones that are practically painted on her ass, the ones that drive him crazy. He’d seen it in Delany’s face too, the way his eyes had followed the curve of her ass, so tight and round and bent over the counter, begging to be reddened up nice and pretty with rough hands. But that’s Brad’s goddamn privilege, not _Delany’s_.

“You don’t know, huh?” he grumbles into her throat, his fingers grazing her neck. “Sure about that, babe? Sure you weren’t eye-fucking Delany, telling him he’s the best thing ever, knowing I’d get to see it?”

“Brad… fuck…” Claire whines one more time when gropes her and Brad snaps. “Please.”

“Fuck you doing to me?” He kisses her passionately before bending to scoop her into his arms, her body secure against him. “You’re my fucking dream, goddamn it, Claire.”

She bites her lip innocently, trying to hide a smirk as he carries her to her bed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Brad,” she teases. Claire slicks her eyes across his face as if she’s imagining all the bad things he’s been thinking all day. They’re psychic like that sometimes, the ‘we’, the one unit. It wouldn’t surprise him if the thoughts he’d projected across got to her brain somehow.

“You know what you’re doing. Fuckin’ dropping shit in front of Delany just to pick it up,” he grunts, depositing her on the bed unceremoniously. “I know you love the attention, Claire, but there’s only so much a guy can take, alright.”

“All talk and no action from where I’m sitting, Brad,” she counters impatiently, kneeling on the bed and unbuckling his belt with that desperate, hungry look in her eyes. “All day I’ve been dying to get my hands on you, you know. I was kinda hoping you’d drag me into the walk-in or something. What’s a girl gotta do?”

“Babe, I have been half-hard all fuckin’ day for you, trying to stick to this dumb fucking rule, no touching at work…” Brad says roughly, shoving her hair from her face so he can see how flushed she is, so he can see her dark, dark eyes, the need only he gets to see. “Jesus Christ, Claire, you’re a fucking brat today. Gotta teach you a lesson in manners.”

Claire whines again and stares at his face as she palms him through his clothes, and he swears he’s gonna come just from the way she licks her swollen lips. “C’mon, just a taste…” she whines again. Her breath is warm on his stomach and he desperately needs to fuck her pretty little mouth to stop her from making that noise again. “Please…” she whispers, tugging at his zipper.

The next morning there’s still the tinge of redness on her bare ass and he beams proudly for putting it there. It’s just as beautiful a sight when he fucks her in the shower too.

Brad makes a mental note: he _really_ needs to thank Delany.

\---

The teasing and the flirting becomes routine; Claire will kiss him like there’s a promise on her lips threatening to spill, just before she says goodbye. She’ll flash that secret smirk and sway her hips to get his brain going, whine his name for help and do whatever it takes for him to snap as soon as they get home to her place (it’s always hers; Brad’s not waiting til he gets to fucking New Jersey to taste her). Sometimes, when he’s refusing to rise to the bait – just for fun – she’ll bring Delany into it, because who couldn’t want to flirt with Claire? Girl’s got most of the woman-loving world at her feet, him included.

Still, even Brad didn’t see this one coming.

“You wanna what?” he asks, still reeling from Delany’s question to him. He kinda just sits rooted in his desk chair, lunch forgotten, wondering what the fuck to actually say to the question.

“Why not?” Delany replies from where he’s sat on the desk opposite Brad. “I wanna ask her out for a drink, man, come on, it’s _Claire_. She’s gorgeous and funny, we have fun… just need to know _how_ to ask her out.”

_Yeah_, Brad wants to say._ I know, Claire’s the fucking best._ But he doesn’t because he can’t: Claire set the rule and he’s gotta stick to it no matter what. Doesn’t help that he kinda wants to spill his guts now, apologise for whatever they’d done that had set Alex down the path to wanting to actually date Claire.

Poor Delany, though, guy’s gonna get turned down for the first time in his life, probably.

“Claire Saffitz?” Brad says, playing along in shock still. “_That_ Claire?” he rubs a palm across the back of his neck. “I dunno man, you don’t seem like her type is the thing, wouldn’t want you to make an ass outta yourself.”

Delany blinks. “Okay, one, offence taken, fuck you very much. Second, why not? She’s awesome, I’m cute, it’s a match!”

“You think you got a chance with Claire?” Brad tries to hide the smirk and the laugh from his voice because, man, he feels kinda bad about this now. “Harvard girl, Type A, goofy perfectionist Claire?”

“I got a chance more’n you got, Leone,” Alex retorts, folding his arms across his chest defensively. “Wanna bet?” he adds, eyes fixed and determined. And really, Brad shouldn’t. He just shouldn’t. “Come on, dude, fifty bucks, she says yes.”

He’s gonna have to go to church or something for this one; at least it wasn’t his idea.

Brad tries not to laugh again. “Sure, Delany, you ask Claire out, even just for a drink, and I’ll just sit here and watch you get turned down, man. No way she says yes. How you gonna even start that conversation?”

“Yeah, that was my original question, you jerk,” Alex laughs, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “You know Claire, right? What does she like doing?”

Brad’s head flashes to the past few nights he and Claire had spent in a haze of desperate touching, laughing and eating ramen on her couch. “Uh… I don’t know, maybe just fucking invite her one of your Instagram crawls or something,” he pokes at his lunch of leftover mortadella pizza. “Claire likes food and… fun. And variety.”

_Yeah, _his brain interjects._ Claire likes being on top and underneath. That’s fucking variety._

“Really?” Delany says like he doesn’t really believe it. “I guess it could be good, she might be less weird about it if there’s other people there, she can like… mingle or something.”

Before he can help himself, Brad barks in laughter. “Yeah, cos Claire fucking loves people, right?” He shakes his head: no, he doesn’t need to worry about Alex Delany stealing Claire’s heart. “Look, she’s a simple girl, right? She loves being at home, zoning out and forgetting about all the shit she’s gotta do the next day. Oh, God, and don’t take a photo of her and post it online without her knowing, she fucking hates that shit and you never hear the end of it cos for some reason she thinks there’s a bad angle to her face, whatever that means.”

Delany’s looking at him a little weird; okay, so he’s getting a bit carried away. “Bad angle?”

“I know!” Brad exclaims, shoving pizza into his mouth. “Just play along or something. Tell her she’s beautiful, she loooooves that. Fucking is, though, man, I don’t know what asshole put it into her head that she has any kinda bad angle but fuck that guy. Claire’s the best, oh my God, you have no idea. Talented too-”

He catches it the instant it comes out of his mouth; Brad knows what he’s done.

“Oh my God…” Alex says slowly, frowning until his face catches up and his jaw drops. “Holy shit, are you and Claire together?!”

“What?! Me and Claire?!” Brad mimics, shaking his head. “What, no, no, no. Definitely not. No. Like she’d ever go for me, come on use your noodle.”

But Delany’s just laughing now, groaning as he leans forward and punches Brad’s shoulder a little too hard. “Oh, you fucking asshole, you were gonna let me get rejected and take my money!”

The jig’s kinda up there so Brad can’t help but smirk slowly, wiping his mouth clean with a Kleenex. “Fifty bucks, almost had you, too. Easy money. Can’t keep my damn mouth shut about her when I actually get a chance to…”

“Wait, how long’s that been going on?” Delany asks, sitting back on the desk, eyes wide.

“Like six months,” Brad shakes his head because, really, it’s getting fucking ridiculous now. “Her idea, fucking torture for me. Jesus, though, I’m crazy about that girl, man, you got no idea. She’s _perfect_, like scary perfect, right? Last six months, best of my fucking life.”

“Damn, you lucky son of a bitch,” he gives Brad a shit-eating grin and any guilt he might have felt about telling Delany or leading the guy wrong flies out of the window. Alex knows, too; Claire’s the girl who grabs your heart and burrows deep inside. “How’d it even start?”

And Brad tells the story for the first time ever, though it won’t be the last: it’s Hot Pockets and sourdough donuts, Springsteen album swapping, and getting serious in Denver in July, comforting her over the stupid fucking pie competition.

He keeps for himself the moments they’d had together in-between where she’s sleeping on his chest and he’s sure she’s the one, the other half of his life that he’d never realised was missing. That’s for nobody’s ears except hers.

Alex pays him the fifty bucks the next day, anyway. Bet’s a bet, after all.

\---

Really, Brad should have picked a better place to drag her into than the walk-in. For one thing, it’s fucking freezing, and second, there’s a window and the test kitchen lunch break is coming to an end in like ten minutes; they’re gonna get caught if he can’t get her to come on his hand soon. Claire will complain about having to spend all day soaked and needy until she’s snapping at anyone who comes near her if he runs out of time to get her off. There was still that rule, she’d reminded him. No touching at work, no teasing, no telling people.

Fuck the rules, though, he had already decided when he’d pulled her inside the walk-in; there’s a limit to his patience. It’s Halloween and he’s gonna get his candy.

“Oh God,” Claire moans quietly as she can, her head thrown back as he swipes his rough fingers over her wetness, working as quick as he can to get her off. “Fuck, Brad, oh my God…”

The pretty patterned dress she’s wearing is rucked around her thighs, her wrists pinned above her head in one of his huge hands because as patient a man as he claims he is, Brad just wants to see her flushed and coming on his fingers without distractions.

He licks his cold lips and grins as her thighs start shaking, pressing his forehead to hers. “Come on, babe, you not gonna hold out on me are ya?” he says roughly, slipping his fingers inside her. “Six months I lasted with you here, Claire, this was always gonna happen. Fucking beautiful…”

Those big dark eyes focus on his face as his thumb rubs insistently at her swollen clit, her hips canting for more. “Say it again…” she moans breathlessly, her hands twitching above her head. “Please.”

“I love you, Claire,” he groans, kissing her punishingly hard. “Love you so fucking much.”

“Love you too,” she whispers, breaking as she comes quick and dirty on his fingers, biting down on her lip so she doesn’t make too much noise. She’s gorgeous and _his_.

Her heart is thudding so loud in her chest that he can hear it, and Brad wants nothing more than to spend his life worshipping the fuck out of Claire Saffitz: when he sees himself happy it’s always with her. The rough palm that held her wrists to the wall drops and she wraps both arms limply around him, kissing him with lazy thanks and love and all the words they don’t have time to say.

“Oh, fucking… come on, man…” Brad hears Delany say as the door to the walk-in opens creakily and closes just as quick. They can hear the guy muttering to himself about health and safety and food hygiene even as he walks away. He’s a good guy, Brad supposes. _Sometimes._

Claire dissolves into giggles and rests her head on Brad’s shoulder, panting a little from the whirlwind of the last thirty seconds. “Ah fuck. Maybe we should tell everybody else now since you told Delany…”

The thought crosses his head before Brad shrugs his shoulders and dismisses it just as quick.

“Nah. Where’s the fun in that, Saffitz?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please like, please comment <strike>and subscribe</strike>. Much thanks to the discord for all the motivation and for all the other writers on here who keep us fed.
> 
> Now I gotta go write some Brad/Delany drunk smut to get it out of my head...


End file.
